


House of the Rising Fuck

by balter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Past Abuse, Roommates, i have like six other things i'm supposed to be working on but this Would Not Be Ignored
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balter/pseuds/balter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've stranded yourself on the other side of the country. You're somehow living in a shitty apartment with an insomniac college student, a perpetually angry baker, and the insomniac's farmer boyfriend who likes to visit. You have no intention of staying, definitely no intention of getting dragged into their bullshit, but here you are anyway. And you <i>really can't</i> stop staring at the angry baker's ass.</p><p>Your name is Dave Strider, and Seattle is fuckin' testing you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DAVE: Be eighteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for your birthday, you try something new and different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got nothing to say except that i'm writing this with a killer cold and i am having a marvelous time
> 
> (cw for abuse from bro)

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are getting the hell out of Dodge. Exiting the fuck outta Houston, Texas. Your bag is packed, sword is sheathed, shades in place. It’s sometime past 4am so _technically_ you’re eighteen now. _Technically,_ once you’re out the door, no one can make you come back.

Not even Bro.

You know that when he wakes up he’ll know everything that’s happened. The cameras are always recording. That’s why you put all of this together at the very last second, once you were certain Bro was asleep. Then it’s a simple matter of breaking your bedroom window (Bro had it sealed shut when you tried to run three years ago) and climbing down.

Plus side of constant strifing with Bro: you know how to get down a wall. Even from the top floor of an apartment complex.

There’s alarms going off as you make your hasty exit through the broken window, cutting yourself on the glass several times. You quickly make your way down, hoping, _begging,_ that Bro won’t reach ground level before you.

He isn’t there when your feet hit the asphalt, and you don’t waste any time waiting. You run for the road and follow the bus stops until the first one comes rolling up to you, two hours later. The driver squints at you suspiciously as you fumble out change. You only have a vague idea of how money actually works, from watching movies. Bro always paid for things himself. This is all stolen from him.

“I need to get away from here,” you tell the driver.

She sees the blood dripping down your arm. You’d forgotten about it until now. You think, maybe she can see how young you are, too. Don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

“How old are you, son?” she asks you, voice soft. She isn’t pulling away from the curb. Your fingers twitch nervously.

“Eighteen,” you reply, keeping your face blank. “So how far can you take me?”

“That depends.” She’s still studying you. Actually _seeing_ an adult's eyes is kinda disconcerting. “Do you have a passport?”

You have no idea what that is. “Um, no.”

“There’s a Greyhound station on my route. That’ll take you out of state.” She finally looks away from you, turning back to face the route. The lights at the end of the still-empty street change color. “Sound good to you, kid?”

“Yeah.”

You don’t say anything else. You think your voice might crack if you try. You’re doing this. You’re actually getting away.

You catch a railing when the driver pulls away from the curb, and when you glance back you can see Bro running up the sidewalk.

You can hardly breathe for how much the sight of him scares you.

You flip him off.

-

You are cold. You are stupid cold. Heading north in fucking December, what were you thinking?! Just that you remember John lives somewhere in Washington, your ex-best friend who you haven’t talked to since you were thirteen. You always thought his dad seemed pretty cool.

Now you’re freezing your ass off in Seattle. Nobody’s tried to steal from you, at least. Folks usually don’t seem to be prepared to fuck with a sword. But this is hard. You didn’t bring enough clothes. You didn’t think about shampoo. You didn’t look for a blanket or a tent or some-fucking-thing to use as shelter. You didn’t bring food. Your sword means nobody trusts you and you can’t go into a shelter, either.

You, Dave Strider, are an incompetent ignoramus.

And you’re down to your last greasy burger.

Your uselessly cold fingers eventually tear the wrapper off and you go in, thinking vaguely about how you might start using your sword tomorrow as some kinda highway robbery shtick. But your last greasy burger isn’t there.

Your last greasy burger is in the claws of a big, round, _smug as fuck crow._

You swear, lurching up to your feet and sprinting across the street after it. Come on, a crow that fat can’t be fast, it just can’t, that would be way too humiliating--

You’re airborne.

And then you’re not.


	2. KARKAT: Pick a coffin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's nothing quite like accidental murder to ruin your fucking day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm remembering exactly why i used to love writing comedy so much, this is a good return

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and once again, you have completely fucking ruined your life. This is it. Over. Totaled. Wrecked like the Prius crushed between two semis you saw on I-5 yesterday. There is no coming back from this.

You just hit a homeless guy with your car. Your mediocre car that you finally paid off last Tuesday. You take this back road with Gamzee every night _specifically because_ there’s never anyone around this late. After a certain time of day you just don’t want to look at another human.

But, as you have always known, the universe revels in fucking you over.

The homeless guy somehow, _fucking inexplicably,_ sails all the way over your car while a distorted voice booms **SWEET AIR** and then he hits the asphalt behind your car with a very loud thud. Maybe a little crunch, too.

You are gripping the steering wheel, leg quivering as you practically stand on your brakes. You don’t open your mouth. You don’t breathe. You don’t blink. Maybe, just maybe, this way you can just simply fade out of existence, and it won’t even matter that you completely fucking ruined your life.

You, Karkat Vantas, are an incompetent fucking ignoramus.

And you’re going to jail for manslaughter.

“Oh _shit,_ bro,” Gamzee whispers from next to you. Their eyes look about ready to pop right out of their skull.

“Oh shit?” you echo, your voice quickly rising to a panicked yell. “OH. _SHIT?!?!!?_ MY UTTERLY RECKLESS DRIVING HAS SENT A HUMAN BEING SAILING THROUGH THE AIR LIKE AN CRACKED FRISBEE. IT’S GONNA BE THE GRAVE OR PRISON FOR ME NOW, GAMZEE. PRISON _WILL_ BE A FUCKING GRAVE, I CAN’T SURVIVE IN THERE!”

Gamzee stares blankly at you for several seconds, maddeningly sluggish in their thought process. Their mouth forms an alarmed “o” shape.

“I can’t go to prison, man,” they drawl, missing four times before they manage to unbuckle. “There’s dogs that’ll die if I’m in prison.”

“WELL, I GUESS THAT’S JUST TOO BAD FOR US, ISN’T IT?” you shout back.

“No, no, s’alright, I got this.” Gamzee opens the door and nearly falls out of the car. They point at you. “I’ve _got_ this.”

They stand up and walk around to the back of the car. You keep the engine idling, anxiously biting down on your lip until it cracks and bleeds. You fucked this up, you fucked everything up, fuck fuck FUCK.

“He’s all bruised ‘n shit, but nothing too bad,” Gamzee calls. You can’t quite see them through the rearview mirrors, just their shadow moving. “Knocked right on out, though. I can probably get him fixed up if we bring him back to our place.”

You whip around in your chair, staring through the back window at where Gamzee is now standing. They’ve picked up the homeless guy from the road. You keep forgetting how strong Gamzee is, despite having the build of a damn toothpick.

“Wait,” you say, eyes wide. “He isn’t _dead?!_ ”

Gamzee gives you a scathing look. It’s particularly spooky in the red glow of your tail lights.

“Karkat,” they sigh. “You were driving ten miles an hour.”

“Well, shove him in the backseat or something,” you huff, turning back around. “We are _not_ going to prison today.”

“Whatever you say, brother.”

-

Gamzee is as good as they say, and has the homeless guy cleaned and patched up in the time it takes for you to haul the groceries upstairs and check five times for blood on your car. There isn't any. You think. Maybe you should check again.

You dump the last bag of groceries on the counter and throw a pack of Monster drinks at Gamzee. They catch the pack and stumble back a few steps.

“Where's the guy?” you ask, squinting around. Last you saw, Gamzee had him in the bathroom.

“Set him down in my room,” Gamzee replies, popping the tab on the first drink. “Resting like an angel, he is. Looks like he hasn't had a good sleep in a while.”

“You're leaving an _absolute stranger_ in your room, Gamzee?” You give them a disbelieving look as you start unloading groceries. “Not a good idea.”

“Not a thing to worry over,” Gamzee says calmly. “I have to stay up all night for a paper, anyhow. May as well keep an eye on him, too.”

They have a point. You place a box of eggs in the fridge, and wonder when Gamzee last got a full night’s sleep. They need to stop taking so many classes at once, it doesn't help their insomnia any. Not that Gamzee has ever listened to that particular request from you. They’re determined to get their career started as quickly as they can.

You hope they don't burn out along the way.

“Karkat.”

You turn, frowning at them. “What?”

Gamzee smiles, reaching an absurdly long arm across the counter to ruffle your hair. You huff indignantly, quickly ducking away.

“G’night, bro,” Gamzee hums cheerfully.

They take their pack of Monster drinks and stroll back to their room. You finish loading the fridge back up, then drag yourself to bed. You pointedly ignore that you have to get up in a few more hours.

As if the agony of the baking and retail jobs wasn't enough, now there's _this_ on top of it. Fucking incredible. Sollux will probably find it hilarious, the sadistic little shit.

You turn off your lamp and grumble at your dim phone screen until you're too tired to do that anymore.


	3. GAMZEE: Finish your paper.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're not really bothered by the strange guy sleeping on your floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h'okay, so for my own nefarious purposes i'm shuffling ages a bit! beta kids are 18, beta trolls are 20, alpha kids are 21, and alpha trolls are 23. guardians are whatever.

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you’re feeling pretty alright. There was some excitement earlier with Karkat hitting a guy out on the road, but it’s all calmed down now. Karkat is asleep and the little homeless guy is, too.

You cleared up a patch of floor for him and in lieu of having a spare mattress, piled up as many blankets and oh-so soft sweaters as you could get your hands on (you have a lot of both). He’ll be quite comfy when he wakes up, you’re confident.

You still heard some bicycle horns when you set him down on the pile, but you weren’t quite invested enough to try _looking_ for them. He probably won’t mind. Much.

Little fella is snoring as you finish putting your paper together, a last effort for finals. Depending on how your grades turn out, this could be what sends you off into university, and hopefully with a shitton of scholarships. That’s a nice thought. It’ll be a damn miracle to go down to three or four classes a quarter, rather than the six and seven you’ve been tackling at a time.

You pop the tab on your fourth can of Monster. The drink-induced jitters are about as normal as breathing to you by now. When was the last time you slept more than thirty minutes once? Fuck if you know.

It’s ticking past 4am. Your paper only needs a final look over, and in the meantime you’re gonna take a little break. Your spine creaks in relief.

-

You forgot to take your makeup off earlier. Maybe one of these days you’ll feel fine going out in public with the scars, but the questions get annoying. _Stay in school_ has been your go-to answer for a while now, with an exaggerated wink at the end. Seems to do well enough.

The full story is more weird and awkward than you’re usually willing to go into. Everyone regrets their fifteen-year-old self a little. You ain’t any different.

Shit, has it been five years already…? Huh.

You finish cleaning up and wander back to your room, intent on finishing your paper. One last edit. That’s all it needs. Freedom is so close you can motherfucking _taste_ it.

Oh. No, that’s just Monster. Lime.

Little homeless guy has rolled partially off the pile you made for him, three quarters of the way on his stomach with his butt in the air and face smushed into the carpet. You snap a pic for snickering purposes and then set to carefully rolling him back up onto the pile, tucking him in gently. His dogtags clink as they fall loose again.

You had noticed them before, while getting him cleaned up. What was it they had said again? David Strider, 12/03/1995, couple other things. A Texas address. Kinda weird for a kid to be wearing that kind of information, you think. Like someone’s pet.

Maybe he did it for aesthetic. You don’t know. Texans do weird shit.

Anyway, back to that paper.

-

A few hours later, you hear the gentle honk of bicycle horns. Mr. Strider must be waking up. You look down at where he lays, face scrunched up in confusion.

“The fuck…?” he croaks.

You offer a wide, lazy of grin, wiggling your fingers in greeting. “‘Sup, motherfucker,” you say.

His squint moves from the ceiling to you. It’s obvious he is nowhere near awake yet. It’s just as obvious that the sound of your voice (and probably the horns) reached the kitchen, because Karkat just kicked down your door, furiously wielding a tray of muffins.

Sollux must’ve covered his shift.

“GAMZEE, DO TELL ME WHY I WOKE UP TO A SLEW OF MOCKING TEXTS FROM SOLLUX FUCKING CAPTOR,” Karkat yells, gesturing wildly with the tray. He’s wearing the pink kitty mitts. “I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHY YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE EVEN A VAGUELY GOOD IDEA TO -- oh, he’s awake.”

Karkat’s sudden drop to quiet tones is both unexpected and hilarious. He blinks several times before awkwardly waving the muffin tray at Mr. Strider, who has a hand up to his forehead. You snicker as you close your laptop. You’ve just been messing around on YouTube since submitting your paper a couple of hours ago.

“Hello,” Karkat says.

“Hi,” Mr. Strider sighs back. He doesn’t move his hand down from his forehead. “Why am I here?”

“Karkat ran you over with his car,” you tell him cheerfully, trying not to chortle at Karkat’s affronted look. You point to him. “That’s Karkat. I’m Gamzee, Gamzee Makara. Welcome to Casa Shit.”

“ _Gamzee,_ ” Karkat hisses, advancing through the piles of junk on your floor. He steps on three bicycle horns. “We are _not_ calling our apartment _Casa Shit._ ”

You shrug at him, popping the tab on your last can of Monster.

Mr. Strider has both hands up to his forehead by now. He’s slid partly off the pile again.

“Where are my clothes,” he says miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up, just to establish, all the povs: tavroooooos


	4. TAVROS: Visit your partner.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gamzee texts you a lot. this is nothing new. but, they're saying something about hitting a guy with a car?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, this took longer than intended. mostly because i made the recent discovery that RPing is _tons_ of fun and i enjoy it a lot. also that pokemon go thing...
> 
> there's a lot of texting in this chapter, and i never quite know how to write that. lemme know if the format works out, yeah?

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you’ve been getting some pretty strange texts from your partner today. You just got back in from your morning rounds -- milked the cows, let the alarmingly ancient horse out to graze, collected chicken eggs and went for a run with the dogs. Now you’re chowing down on a heap of scrambled eggs and buttered toast and hot tea, because cold juice before the fire is even going just doesn’t appeal, not in December.

It’s quiet at Abuela’s farm. Most of the livestock have been sold. Most of the kids and grandkids have left, and Abuelo passed last summer. Now it’s just you and her, but you hear Rufioh is going to come back soon. You’re not sure how you feel about that.

Your phone chimes. As you flip it over on the table, there’s a whole bunch of notifications. Unread texts, mostly. At the top is a reminder -- _Gamzee’s winter break! :o)_ \-- and you smile broadly at that.

The texts are from them, too.

 **Gamzee:** _(4:35am)_ bro u will not believe what is happening up here in casa shit

 **Gamzee:** _(4:37am)_ [sent an image]

 **Gamzee:** _(4:39am)_ look at this little motherfucker kar hit em with his car. Sleeping like the dead but nbd they’re okay i got em all patched up

 **Gamzee:** _(4:40am)_ snores like your abuela’s weird pug

 **Gamzee:** _(4:45am)_ o yeah and they’ve got this bitching katana. weird thing for a homeless kid to be hauling around. maybe they’re a wandering serial killer :o)

 **Gamzee:** _(4:46am)_ [sent an image]

 **Gamzee:** _(4:47am)_ check iiiiiiiiit

You don’t know enough about swords to really get what makes a bitching one, but it does look pretty cool to you. You giggle at the series of selfies Gamzee sends you, each katana pose more goofily dramatic than the last.

You never know what going to come next, dating Gamzee.

-

 **Gamzee:** _(9:12am)_ sol took kar’s shift n he takes it as a personal offense

 **Gamzee:** _(9:14am)_ he’s already baked 8 trays of muffins ha

 **Gamzee:** _(9:20am)_ o shit he made those cranberry orange ones u like

 **Gamzee:** _(9:21am)_ [sent an image]

 **Gamzee:** _(9:22am)_ promise i’ll save u some

 **Tavros:** _(9:25am)_ That would be nice,

 **Gamzee:** _(9:25am)_ babe!!!!!!!!

 **Gamzee:** _(9:26am)_ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

 **Tavros:** _(9:27am)_ Good morning, :-)

 **Gamzee:** _(9:29am)_ how u doing? scale?

 **Tavros:** _(9:31am)_ 8/10, I’m good,

 **Tavros:** _(9:31am)_ How’s your visitor doing?

 **Gamzee:** _(9:33am)_ lmao he’s a champ (and a he)

 **Gamzee:** _(9:34am)_ motherfucker has gotten kar yelling 6 times in the last 10 minutes

 **Gamzee:** _(9:35am)_ sol might get jealous

 **Tavros:** _(9:36am)_ Ha, really?

 **Tavros:** _(9:37am)_ He must really be something,

 **Gamzee** _: (9:38am)_ o yea

 **Gamzee:** _(9:38am)_ is it weird to be glad u hit a guy with a car??

 **Gamzee:** _(9:39am)_ (well technically kar is the one who hit him)

 **Gamzee:** _(9:39am)_ this motherfucker is cracking me up

 **Tavros:** _(9:40am)_ Yeah Gam, that’s a little weird,

 **Tavros:** _(9:41am)_ I’m glad everyone’s okay, though!

 **Tavros:** _(9:41am)_ Gotta go now,

 **Gamzee:** _(9:42am)_ byyyyye ^3^

You chuckle as you set your phone aside, bracing yourself as you move away from the table. You've got studying to do.

-

Gamzee sends you texts throughout the day, detailing adventures with the strange guy Karkat ran over. His name is Dave Strider, apparently. From Texas, and much to Gamzee’s amusement, he totally refuses to take his sunglasses off. Something about “the pinnacle of coolness.”

While brewing your afternoon pot of tea, you learn that Strider has never seen a dog before, and doesn’t really understand what they are. There’s a solid chance Gamzee cried at that. They love dogs more than anything.

 **Gamzee:** _(1:37pm)_ i’m pulling up my yt playlist rn i’m gonna make this poor kid’s motherfucking day

 **Gamzee:** _(1:38pm)_ he wasn’t even sure that dogs r animals. what kind of hell IS texas

You hope Strider isn’t too overwhelmed by Gamzee’s enthusiasm. Karkat’s… _big_ personality can be pretty alarming too, if you don’t understand it. You thought he absolutely despised you for the first couple of years that you knew each other. Pretty confusing to learn that the opposite was true.

Abuela comes striding into the room. 68 and she still stands tall and broad-shouldered. You’ve inherited that. Her half-blind pug is running giddy circles around her feet. You still think Barkfiend is an extreme sorta name for a wheezy little dog.

“Gamzee’s on break,” Abuela states before you can say hello. She sits on a counter stool, scooping Barkfiend up with a hand and setting him in her lap. “Your phone has been going off all day.”

“Yeah,” you smile. The tea kettle whistles so you turn away. “They’re having, a pretty interesting day.”

“That so.” Abuela gives you a smirk when you glance her way.

“Well, Karkat accidentally, hit someone with the car,” you explain. You set down mugs for yourself and Abuela. “He’s okay, they decided to, let him rest up at their place. He’s from Texas. Seems, okay to them. Gamzee thinks that, he’s pretty funny. But, he’s never, ever seen a dog.”

“ _No._ ”

“Right?” You laugh, meeting Abuela’s twinkling eyes. “Gamzee was, pretty horrified. They’re showing him videos, now.” You set the kettle back down and walk over to the cabinets. “Uh, I’m making, chamomile. Do you, want anything?”

“Chamomile is fine,” Abuela says. “I need more calming tea in my old age.”

She’s joking around. You can tell by the smile teasing at her lips, the extra crinkles around her eyes. Abuela always seems so amused. So comfortable. She’s good at helping you feel the same way, sometimes.

You’re really really glad she said you could come live with her three years ago. It’s really made all the difference.

“Then chamomile, for both of us,” you say, and make tea for two.

-

You’ve come in from evening rounds when Gamzee sends you a very blurry picture of Karkat carrying Strider out of the kitchen by his shoulders.

 **Gamzee:** _(7:14pm)_ kar is threatening to take him down to the parking lot to finish the job

 **Gamzee:** _(7:15pm)_ OHHHHHHH STRIDER JUST SAID HE COULD PROLLY TAKE HIM ON 

**Tavros:** _(7:16pm)_ Haha, you think so?

 **Gamzee:** _(7:19pm)_ i have seen both of these men naked and while i love kar with all my heart

 **Gamzee:** _(7:20pm)_ he will most definitely lose

 **Tavros:** _(7:21pm)_ Harsh,

 **Gamzee:** _(7:22pm)_ i know bro, it hurts to admit

You giggle as you shrug out of your coat, hanging it on its designated hook. You could smell meat on the grill while you were making your way back, and your mouth waters as you consider what Abuela might have put together while you were gone. She asked you to peel potatoes earlier so that’s definitely a part.

“Tavros, you in?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” you call back. You lean against the wall as you peel your boots off.

“How’s your scale for today?”

“Uh…” You think about it, going over your mental count of steps and other movements. “Four out of ten.”

She leans around the corner, looking at you curiously. You blink back.

“That enough for a trip into Seattle?” she asks. “I can drive you to the 101.”

Your brow furrows in bewilderment. You still have one boot on and your exposed sock is getting soggy. “Uh, what do you need, in Seattle?”

Abuela huffs a laugh before stepping out of sight, then coming back with a cloth bag and your backpack. Both are loaded.

“I need you to take some dinner to your Gamzee,” she says, like it’s obvious. She chuckles when you beam at her. “They work too hard with all that college stuff, you need to go and pamper them before we both get dragged into the Nitram holiday mania.”

You’re grinning so wide it hurts. You _love_ Abuela.

-

 **Tavros:** _(8:01pm)_ Hey,

 **Tavros:** _(8:01pm)_ Abuela is sending you food,

 **Gamzee:** _(8:02pm)_ have i mentioned lately that i love ur abuela n would gladly die for her

 **Tavros:** _(8:04pm)_ No but I’m sure she knows,

 **Tavros:** _(8:04pm)_ She always knows,

 **Gamzee:** _(8:05pm)_ abuela is the motherfucking best

 **Gamzee:** _(8:06pm)_ wait so this means

 **Gamzee:** _(8:06pm)_ ur coming over

 **Tavros:** _(8:07pm)_ Yes, :-)

 **Gamzee:** _(8:07pm)_ !!!!!!!

 **Gamzee:** _(8:08pm)_ yessssss

 **Tavros:** _(8:09pm)_ I won’t be very talkative though,

 **Gamzee:** _(8:10pm)_ that’s fine i’ll just cuddle the shit outta u ❤️

 **Gamzee:** _(8:12pm)_ kar is going to bed now but you can go ahead and let urself in. i’ll probably be up

 **Gamzee:** _(8:13pm)_ i will always be up for ur abuela’s cooking

 **Gamzee:** _(8:14pm)_ not just because i’m an insomniac

 **Tavros:** _(8:14pm)_ Haha,

 **Gamzee:** _(8:20pm)_ o help urself to the muffins! i talked kar into setting some aside for u ;o)

 **Tavros:** _(8:21pm)_ Awesome, :-D

 **Tavros:** _(8:23pm)_ On the bus now so it’s time for me to zone out a while, I’ll see you soon,

 **Tavros:** _(8:24pm)_ Love you,

 **Gamzee:** _(8:25pm)_ love u too babe

-

Busses are a pain, and riding at night always makes you anxious. Luckily you’re big enough that most people don’t want to mess with you, but still, each trip feels like you’re baiting a panic attack somehow. Add in the sheer exhaustion from chronic pain and well, you’re just thankful that people don’t want to mess with you.

Music helps. Aradia gave you new headphones for your birthday, soft sound-cancelling types, and it’s comforting to listen to her mixes when you have to go out by yourself. Sometimes they help you focus or pump you up, sometimes they’re just good for disconnecting. You’ve always appreciated them.

There’s a timer for when you’re close enough to Seattle, so in the meantime you drift off, staying calm by thinking about Gamzee waiting at the end of this trip, Karkat’s blunt yet friendly welcome. And Strider, you suppose. You hope you can get along with the guy.

Aradia’s new batch of tunes is pretty sick, as always. You recognize a few riffs you contributed for her mixing. It’s nice that she includes you.

-

The apartment is silent when you let yourself in. Karkat is probably asleep already. The lights in Gamzee’s room and the bathroom are both on. You can smell the incense Karkat likes to burn. Cinnamon, this time?

You lock the door behind you and leave your boots there before making your way to the kitchen. You set Abuela’s bag of food on the countertop and let your backpack slide down your arm to land on the tile floor. The fridge hums as obnoxiously loud as you remember.

Your first goal is to grab a muffin. Then you’ll go say hello to Gamzee, cuddle a bit while they snack, and go to sleep. And then your day is done. Nice and simple.

The muffin was left for you on the counter, as expected. You double-check that it isn’t Mr. S’ plate you’re grabbing from before picking it up, leaning over the counter as you take a slow bite.

You swear, the Lord Himself couldn’t make something more heavenly. And you don’t even like cranberries.

**S T R I F E !**

A booming, electric voice makes you jump away from the counter in confusion, _feet_ hit your shoulders and before you know it, you’re pinned to the kitchen tiles and blinking up through the darkness at… a pair of _weirdly_ ominous shades.

“U-uh,” you stammer. “Wh-who, a-a-are you?”

“Justice.”

“I-is that, a n-name, or…?”

The kitchen light turns on. You flinch, breath hissing between your teeth. Your attacker doesn’t so much as twitch, face unnervingly blank. They’re… wearing Gamzee’s pajamas? That are clearly too long??

“Strider,” you hear Karkat’s aggravated sigh. “What the _fuck._ ”

Oh. So this is Strider. Explains the pajamas, you guess. Doesn’t explained why he took you down like a smaller, subtler Terezi.

“You had an intruder,” Strider says to Karkat. Your arms hurt in the position he’s twisted them into. Everything hurts.

“Yes, an intruder who brought a sack of homemade meals,” Karkat snaps. “I am fucking _terrified_ for my life. _Thank you._ ”

“Aw, brother…”

The familiar drawl of your partner relaxes you instantly, and when you crane your neck you can see Gamzee’s bare toes shuffling up. They must’ve just taken their makeup off, because you can see the scars shifting as they frown. They look just as confused as you feel.

Then they giggle.

Their cheeks dimple and nose scrunches up, eyes twinkling like Abuela’s do, and you know things are okay after all. Really strange, but okay. In fact, you start giggling, too. Karkat makes an irritable _UGH_ sound in the background.

“Motherfucker,” Gamzee chuckles, stretching out an arm to ruffle Strider’s hair. Strider doesn’t move an inch. “What are you doing here?”

Strider’s lips twist just a bit. Maybe he feels just as awkward about this as you do. Hard to tell, though. At least he lets your arms go.

“Fucking up, apparently,” he drawls back at Gamzee.

“Yeeeeeeeah.” Gamzee wears a face of calm patience as they pick you up off of the floor. They then point to you. “This is my boyfriend, Tavros Nitram.”

Strider’s face is an impressive shade of red. You can sympathize.

“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuela Nitram is afrolatina, and Tavros is as well! possibly with a few more things mixed in. the Nitrams got a bit of everything, it seems.
> 
> i can be found on [tumblr](http://to-balter.tumblr.com/) btw


	5. KARKAT: Use your day off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it doesn't matter how, you just need to not be in the apartment today. may as well take strider along.

Despite the delightful _excitement_ of last night, you still manage to wake up sort of refreshed. Until you realize it's only been three and a half hours. _Fuck._ You're going to drink a lot of coffee. You're going to inject an espresso directly into your needy veins. That is what will happen.

The sun isn't up yet and you wrap yourself up in a poofy throw before heading out to adjust the thermostat and decide you're too cranky for a shower. Thank fuck it's beanie season. If you wash your face, no one will know.

You change into a cold set of clothes hanging on your wall, tidy your room up and then head over to Gamzee’s. The door is cracked open, it almost always is, and you nudge it open to check for signs of consciousness.

Heh.

They're all still sleeping, of course. Gamzee’s got arms and legs sprawled across Tavros’ bulky frame, a hand curled on his exposed belly. They're fucking adorable. You're glad they got together. 

Strider is passed out on the floor again, blankets now added to the weird pile of sweaters Gamzee had provided. No one sleeps on the couch. No one who doesn't want to piss off the resident ghost, anyway.

Strider is obviously a jumpy guy (as Tavros found out), so you're not going to be the idiot who tries shaking him awake.

“Hey,” you call, keeping yourself to a whisper. “Hey, Strider. Wake up.”

He twitches, putting on his ridiculous shades before looking at you. The hell is it with him and those things.

_Toxic masculinity, motherfucker,_ a Gamzee voice drawls in your head. They're probably right.

You gesture for Strider to follow you, and after a moment he does. The shorts he's borrowing from Gamzee nearly fall from his waist and his expression doesn't change a bit as he re-ties the drawstring.

“What’s up?” he asks, sounding indifferent. His body language is pretty tense.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you start, stepping away from Gamzee’s door. Strider steps after you. “I’m heading out for the day and you're coming with me.”

“Uh, why?”

“I have errands to run,” you tell him. You make your way into the kitchen, double-checking the three tall bags you filled with baked goods last night. Blacks for regular, and the red bag is gluten free. “Also, Gamzee and Tavros haven't seen each other for three months. You do _not_ want to be here today.”

They had forgotten that you were present once. That you know your best friend is a screamer, and that you have _seen their boyfriend naked_ is something that will haunt you to your grave and fucking beyond.

Strider seems to understand what you're implying. He cringes as he glances back to Gamzee’s door. “Yeeeah, errands sound pretty good to me.”

“Of course they do,” you grunt. You step around the corner to grab your coat and another for Strider. He can't wear nothing but Gamzee’s shit. “You're welcome.”

Strider hesitates before accepting the coat and pulling it on. It's one of the poofy ones, great for insulation. He looks absolutely tiny in it. Strider is still using his disgustingly beat up shoes. They're falling apart, like everything else. Everything except the shades.

“Probably shouldn't wear pajamas,” he drawls.

“I never change out of my PJs on my days off,” you reply. “Gamzee thinks it's hilarious and Sollux mocks me for it. Fuck that guy, though, he drinks Mountain Dew and _likes_ it.”

Strider looks perplexed. Then he smirks, shoving his hands into the coat’s pockets.

“You know, you're pretty nice for a guy who hits innocent people with his car.”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

-

It is cold, and gray, and windy. But at least it isn't the east coast. Strider is shivering in his lent coat as he trails behind you everywhere. You can hear his teeth chattering.

It's Friday, so you go for the coffee shop that serves great panini. You're a favorite by now; they add extra bacon without you even asking. Case the barista asks who your new friend is, and Strider immediately starts rambling nonsense.

While you find the guy’s chatter irritating, it _is_ kinda funny to see just how lost other people get. 

Armed with a panini and a mocha Case added three extras shots to, you start the drive to Lambert House. Strider devours the two sandwiches you got for him.

He tried to turn food down at first. Then he tried to order what was cheapest. You just got him the same order as yours, but without the extra shots and with the extra panini.

He was definitely confused. Strider is starting to worry you. Frankly, you know a trauma victim when you see one, and it's pretty damn clear he's never gotten any help.

You certainly didn't help by _hitting him with your car,_ you supreme dumbass.

“Yo, Vantas, gonna have a stroke?” Strider queries suddenly. He's licking grease off his fingers. “There's this vein in your neck that's kinda freaking out.”

You roll your eyes and take an uncomfortably sharp turn on the hill. “You would too if you had to drive these shit roads,” you say.

He seems to take your response as an invitation to start yammering. You halfway pay attention, giving sour responses that seem to propel him along further. You're pretty annoyed by it, but he seems to be having fun. So it isn't all bad.

“And here we are,” you declare, upon finally securing a place to park.

Strider gets out after you do, looking around as you open the trunk and take out the bags. He's going to have the red while you carry the blacks.

“And where exactly is _here?_ ” he asks.

“Lambert House,” you say, gesturing to the building. “It’s an LGBT youth center. I volunteer here a lot.” You hand him the red bag while you take the other two, closing the trunk.

“An LG-what now?” Strider echoes in bewilderment.

He doesn’t even recognize the term. Well, shit.

“Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender,” you rattle off. You shrug before walking. Strider starts shadowing you again. “Basically, anyone who doesn’t fit the profile of being cisgender and straight. For example: me.”

“Ooookay,” Strider says slowly. When you glance over your shoulder you can see him giving the house an uneasy look. “I do know what gay is.”

Your eyes narrow. “And?”

“It’s bad?” He sounds uncertain. “But that’s what, uh. That’s what my Bro told me, and he’s pretty shitty, so… he’s probably wrong.”

“ _No shit_ he's wrong,” you snarl. You can see his brows lift past his shades. “There isn’t a single thing wrong with being queer.” You stop. “Hey, get the door.”

“Queer?” Strider repeats, stepping in front of you to pull open the door. “Is that another word for the LGBees thing?”

You knock your shoes out on the rug. You're not gonna be the asshole who drags in mud. “LGBT, and yeah.”

“Dude, that is so much easier.” Strider sounds faintly exasperated.

“Some people have issues with it,” you tell him. You start walking and he follows you once again.

“Why?”

You snort. “I don’t think you could stay silent long enough for me to explain.”

“I don’t talk _that_ much.”

You bark a laugh.

-

Your treats are accepted with great enthusiasm, of course, and you roll with the shouts and declarations of love. One particularly deprived gluten-intolerant kid gives you a wet kiss on the cheek before scoring a chocolate cookie for themself. There’s a lot of hugs and hellos.

Dave turns down hugs and shies away from physical contact, flinching when someone shouts too loud. He watches everything with obvious confusion.

You decide to head out sooner than later.

“I have another run to do tomorrow,” you tell Strider as you walk out to the car. “Want to come along?”

He stares at you for a moment. “Sure,” he says eventually. He looks back to the house, shrugs a little. “They seemed nice.”

“They _are_ nice,” you reply. You toss the empty bags into the trunk and walk around to unlock the car. “Now come on, let’s get you some clothes.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you wear Gamzee’s shit forever, you need your own things.”

Strider’s just going to stare at you a lot today, isn't he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the many pluses of writing this is that it gives me reason to explore my local city a bit more. neat.
> 
> aw hey it's a [tumblr.](http://to-balter.tumblr.com/)


	6. DAVE: Wear some granddad's clothes. Look incredible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vantas claims he's bringing you here so he can buy clothes for you. you don't really buy that. but he isn't the worst guy to talk to, you guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just gonna say august was a disaster and... leave it at that. here's a new chapter!

The store you step into is big and makes you think of the warehouses you’ve seen on TV, before Bro decided TV was too much of a distraction. It has a funny sort of smell, something stale mixed up with cleaning supplies. You’re not sure. The lights are too bright. There aren’t a whole lot of people here, at least according to Vantas. You count over a dozen other shoppers before the racks of clothes block your view.

Vantas takes up a lot of space. You knew he was big, but now you really notice it, how you’ve gotta crane your neck to actually look up at him, and the way it startles people to find you right behind the guy. There’s something about his presence, maybe? You can’t put your finger on it.

Vantas keeps glancing back to make sure you’re still following him. He and Makara both do that, you’ve noticed. You can’t figure out _why_ they do it. Makes you nervous.

“See anything you like?” Vantas asks. You stiffen, not expecting him to talk. He’s gesturing to the racks. “We’ve got a budget of fifty dollars. Sorry the funds are pretty tight right now. Family insists that I fly out to see them every Christmas.”

You’re distracted by how he calls _fifty dollars_ a tight budget. Maybe you just don’t understand how money works.

“Shit, I forgot to grab a basket,” Vantas mutters. He gestures at you as he abruptly changes direction. “Come on, follow me.”

-

The basket is bigger than you were picturing. It has three different handles and these little wheels. You tug it along behind you as you trail after Vantas, mumbling distracted responses to his commentary on measurements, sizes, fabrics, other shit you don’t get. You’re glad the shades hide the way your eyes are darting. More people are entering the store, you can hear the doors open and close, open and close.

There’s a lot of stuff here and it doesn’t help that you have no idea how to shop for any of it. You have no idea how to shop, period. You’re reluctant to touch anything and frequently consider absconding. Each time you nearly do, Vantas looks back with a comment or a question.

It’s uncanny.

He starts talking to you more as time goes on, prodding you to give opinions on shirts or actually reach to find out if a cloth texture is to your liking. A _texture._ It’s all pretty fucking surreal.

This guy hit you with his car, and now he’s buying you clothes. Pretty nice clothes. What the hell.

Eventually Vantas figures the overflowing basket is finally good to go, and he leads the way over to the changing rooms. They're not really rooms, though. Just a row of stalls with mirrors and hooks inside. Vantas swings shit over the top of the door for you to try on.

Okay, yeah, you totally do that cliché staring in the mirror while thinking about your life thing, but why the hell not. You look _different._ Hair’s gotten longer. Almost all of that bleach Bro hated so much has grown out. You're skinnier. Meaner looking, in a way. And you've still got that poker face nailed. Just as good as Bro’s, though you could never hold onto as long as he could.

You have no idea how you feel about any of this.

“Hey!”

You turn as something you didn't see earlier comes to hang over the top of the door with the other clothes.

“Just saw this on the clearance rack, try it on.”

It's gray. A pretty damn ugly gray. First ugly thing Vantas has passed your way. You're kinda confused but reach up for it anyway.

_Holy shit._ This is the softest fucking thing you have ever touched. Your jaw actually drops. You leave Vantas’ coat and Makara’s tee hanging on one of the hooks and hurriedly pull the shirt on over your head. It feels so good. How in the _fuck??_

“Dude, what is this?” you demand, managing to sound admirably calm about things. So soft. You could die right here and it would be fine.

“It's a sweater,” Vantas tells you. “Definitely too big on you, but I figure everyone should have at least one oversized comfy sweater in their life. You like it?”

“Uhhh.”

It's way too big for you. Looking in the mirror, you can see how it folds lumpily at your stomach, hides your neck, and swallows up your hands. It's almost as hysterically oversized as Vantas and Makara’s shit.

You absolutely love it. It's so soft. You want this ugly sweater so bad.

This has to be a trick.

You can't let him know how much you like it. That's rule number fucking one, right there. Then again, Vantas doesn't play by Bro’s rules. He doesn't even _know_ Bro’s rules. Things could be different out here. That's why you took a shot by running in the first place.

“You try it on yet, or are you too busy admiring your reflection?” Vantas sounds amused so you think he might actually be joking, but you still flinch. “I can check to see how it looks on you.”

“What?”

“You know, give a second opinion,” Vantas explains. He's got a really rough voice. Maybe he yelled a lot as a kid. “It's how Gamzee and I always shop.”

“Oh.” You stare at your reflection a moment before putting on your shades again. “Okay.”

You open the door and step out. Vantas seems pretty smug about the sweater. You square your shoulders but it makes exactly zero difference. Your fingers worry at the hem of the sweater before you make yourself stop. You can’t let him spot that.

“It’s too big,” Vantas says.

“Yeah.”

“You like it.”

You swallow, staring straight ahead. You’re at about chest height on him. “...Yeah.”

“Then we’ll get it. Try on the tees next.”

He smiles, and you stare. The shades make it safe to stare. His mild expression weirds you out. You saw it before back at that Lamb House place, but still. Seems a little unreal to you. Then again, so does everything else.

You step back in and try on more clothes. Sort of in a haze, sort of keenly focused on shit. It’s weird. Everything is weird.

You’re pulling Makara’s tee back on sometime later when the question occurs to you. Maybe there’ll be consequences but Vantas seems to be in a good mood and besides, there is no way he’s faster than you. You can risk it.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” you say, standing hidden in the stall because that makes it easier. You’re shoving the last items back over the door for Vantas to catch. “Is Makara… okay?”

“You’re asking me if they’re on drugs.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. Or mad. Maybe that’s good? You take the coat off the hook and wrestle on the too-big sleeves.

“Yeah,” you respond. “I guess.”

“The answer is no.” Vantas has somehow already gotten rid of all the clothes you discarded. Basket, too. He cocks an eyebrow as you hang back at the stall door. “They’re like that now because they haven’t slept since summer break. Gamzee runs on Monster and their sheer fucking determination to be a vet.”

“Vet...?”

“Veterinarian,” Vantas says. He starts walking to the front, and you sorta have to trot to keep up. “Doctor for animals, basically. Anything that doesn’t have to do with being a vet, Gamzee tends to ignore. Including sleep. Which is why they tend to seem pretty disconnected around this time of year.”

You know a half-truth when you hear one. You were taught to know. You frown a little but quickly wipe that off, swinging just a little in front of Vantas as he sets the clothes down for the cashier to go through. You know this part. Seen it in sitcoms a few times.

The cashier immediately gets to taking clothes off the hangers and dropping them into a paper bag. She chirps a greeting. _They_ chirp a greeting? Makara had said something about assumptions.

“Anyway,” Karkat says, digging a wallet from out of his jacket. “You should see what they’re like when they’ve actually had a healthy amount of sleep.”

“It’s that much of a difference?” you ask. You rock on your heels.

“In some ways.” Vantas pulls his card out, waiting for the cashier to finish up. There’s a group of three coming up in line behind them.

“$53.07,” the cashier says. Sh-- _they_ keep glancing between the two of you, eyes twinkling like they got a joke that you didn’t.

Vantas said the budget was fifty dollars. You reach for a random item to take off, but you’re blocked by a big, jacketed arm. It’s at least half as wide as your waist. At _least._

You never thought you were small until getting run over by Karkat Vantas.

“Don’t you dare,” Vantas says calmly, handing the cashier his card to pay for everything. You blink up at him.

In another moment you’re following him out the automatic doors with a new pair of jeans, two tees, the sweater, and a pair of shoes. He says something about how you can keep using his coat before letting you carry the bag. You watch as he stuffs the card and receipt back into his wallet before pocketing it. Couldn’t he have done that inside?

“In case you forgot how numbers work, Vantas, that was definitely more than fifty dollars.”

Vantas snorts, unlocking the trunk as you come up behind him. You see him shiver a bit as wind sweeps through. This city is shit when it comes to the windy thing. The coat protects you alright but your poor, poor legs are pretty much frozen. You wonder suddenly if Vantas is too cold, since you’re wearing his usual coat. Shit, he probably is.

“It’s only three bucks,” Vantas says. He waves for you to drop the bag into the trunk, so you do. “Not like it’s gonna break my bank. Besides, I want to do what I can before the 26th.”

“The 26th?”

He nods, slamming the trunk shut. You twitch and hope he didn’t notice. It’s cold out here, he’ll totally think you’re just shivering again. You bounce on your toes, waiting as Vantas unlocks your door.

“Yeah, Gamzee’s sister always comes by the day after Christmas,” he explains. He walks around the front of the car as you open your now-unlocked door. “She’ll try to spoil the fuck out of you, so… just don’t resist it.” He shrugs. “More than half of my quality kitchen equipment is stuff she got for me. I never tell her what I want but it’s always there when I get back.”

“I think I like Gamzee’s sister.”

“Of course you do,” Vantas snorts. He gets into the car after you do. For a moment he just sits and blows on his fingers. “Tell her hi for me.”

“And you can’t because…?”

“Family, remember?” Vantas turns the key in the ignition and the car grumbles awake. “I fly out the day after tomorrow. Won’t be back until the twenty-ninth.”

“Oh.” You look at him for a moment, wondering what it’s like to actually _want_ to be with your family. “Have fun?”

“Kankri can’t make it this year, so I probably will.” Vantas leans around to look behind the car but the vehicle doesn’t move. Instead he stares at you. You will yourself to remain still in the seat. “ _Fuck,_ I didn’t plan on Gamzee having company while I was gone. I need to rework the meal plan. And I didn’t get you a _gift_ either! I’ll bring something back with me.”

“Okay…?”

“Don’t be hurt if Gamzee doesn’t remember, alright?” Vantas seems genuinely worried about this, and you are baffled. He’s gnawing his lip. “They’re really not into winter holidays, so they tend to blank out on this.”

You shrug, using the motion to lean away from him. “Dude, it’s fine.”

“You’re sure?” His brows are drawn together tight, his weird eyes staring too hard.

“Why the fuck do you _care?_ ”

You and Vantas both stiffen when the words leave your mouth. You brace yourself for an explosion, Vantas is definitely an explosive guy, way worse than Bro but… nothing happens. Vantas just shrugs and backs out of the parking spot.

“I’m told it’s my worst quality.”

When you glance over, he’s grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title, DAVE: Keep thinking about Vantas' body and voice because you are A Gay.
> 
> [tumblr!](http://to-balter.tumblr.com/)


	7. TAVROS: Give talking a try.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you only meant to think things over, but a chance for conversation comes up instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated the fic summary! now it fits a li'l better with things :)

Waking up next to Gamzee is definitely the best thing. The best thing out of all best things. They always latch onto you in their sleep, like a cuddly octopus, and it makes you smile when you wake up. It’ll be at least another hour before they stir, so you reach over to the bedside table and mess around on your phone.

Usually, Gamzee is up at all hours while you tend to stick to a schedule. But whenever you manage to visit each other, they always fall asleep first. You like to think that you help them feel relaxed. It’s a nice thought.

When you wake up, you like to smooch their forehead before reaching for your phone. But right now there’s a guest sharing the room, and you don’t want to make it weird. Though by this point, there’s probably no way to avoid that.

You’ll be honest. Strider definitely intimidates you. How could he not? He’s five and a half feet at the very most, looks seriously underfed, and toppled you like it was nothing. You’re not an easy person to knock off balance. You’re too big and heavy. Strider, though, you doubt he’s even a hundred pounds. That’s pretty terrifying.

He hasn’t spoken more than five words to you since kicking your ass that night. Granted, you’ve been pretty wrapped up with Gamzee, and Karkat has been making sure the apartment is freed up for you and them. He’s considerate like that.

You've tried talking to him, though! That's a lot more than you would've accomplished even a year ago. Unfortunately, you just end up stuttering each time. You haven't stuttered this much since you lived with your family. It's that stare he gives, you think, hidden behind the shades with his face all unmoving and blank. Gives you the creeps.

But he can't be a _bad_ guy. Gamzee wouldn't give him the time of day if he was. And Karkat… well, Karkat makes friends with everyone. To the point where some have started to make betting pools (Gamzee always wins).

You’re… shook up. That’s it. Strangers make you anxious, and, well, Strider _is_ very strange. But it’ll get better! You’ve just gotta get to know him.

Oh god he’s been staring at you this whole time.

“Uh, uh, h-hey,” you stammer quietly. Gamzee doesn’t wake up. They _won’t_ wake up, actually, they’re a really heavy sleeper. “I d-didn’t know, you w-w-were awake.”

“Well obviously I don’t sleep with my shades on,” Strider drawls back, just as quiet. You look for some kind of shift in his expression but it just _doesn’t happen._

“O-oh.” You turn off your phone and set your hand down on your chest, just above a bony Gamzee arm. “How long h-have, you been, uh, a-a-awake?”

You try not to grimace. You forgot how bad stuttering makes you feel, how easily it makes your anxiety spike. Because once it happens, you’re bracing yourself for the mockery. _“L-l-listen to this i-idiot’s s-s-st-stutter.”_ Though you already get that for the halting way you talk now. It gets parroted back at you with a jeer. You never admit how much you hate that.

Strider just shrugs. You notice now that he’s got blankets wrapped around his shoulders, one of Karkat’s throws and a fluffy pink thing belonging to Gamzee. His expression still hasn’t changed. You’re starting to wonder if it’s stuck like that.

“Dunno,” he finally says. “A while.”

“A-a-are you, okay?”

You can feel his stare on you and you blanch, choosing instead to look up at the ceiling. Your octopus partner doesn’t give you a whole lot of options.

“Y-you know, w-with the car a-a-and s-stuff…”

“Oh, that.” You glance over to see him shrugging again. “Still kinda sore, I guess. It ain’t so bad. Especially not with that Vantas guy always hoverin’.”

You giggle. Karkat is definitely one to hover.

“What do, you think of him?”

It’s the first you haven’t stuttered. Maybe you really do stand a chance of being a little less jittery around Strider. His lips tighten a little bit. It’s the first shift in expression that you’ve seen.

“Why are you asking?”

“Uh,” you say. You wave the hand not pinned between you and Gamzee, who is now drooling into your shirt. “It’s kinda, fun? People always have something, to say about him. He’s just, that sort of guy, I think.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I am! Sort of.” You smile a little, waving that hand again. Strider’s head angles a little to track your movement. He makes you think of a cat. “He draws everyone in. I can’t do that so, I’m envious. But it’s okay. I’m really happy, with what I have.”

You push some hair back from Gamzee’s face. Their nose scrunches up a little.

“Really, really happy.”

Gamzee mumbles something about tits and ninjas, throws a leg over both of yours and then settles back down. Your phone is now trapped against their collarbone. Strider makes a soft sound, you think it might be a laugh. It’s really hard to tell with him.

“Hey, uh.”

You look back up when he speaks.

“I never really apologized. For before.”

“O-oh! It’s okay.” You give him an assuring smile and Gamzee mumbles in their sleep again, though this time you can’t make it out. “You’re really strong! Only Gamzee has been, able to knock me over that easy.”

“Makara?” You can actually _hear_ his doubt.

“Yeah, they’re _really,_ uh, strong. I was pretty surprised.” You glance down at them, brush your thumb over the topmost of their scars before quickly pulling your hand back. You don’t want to prompt questions about their past. “At first I thought Gamzee, was super scary. They’ve changed a lot. I have, too. In good ways.”

He doesn’t ask about the scars and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief before looking back over at him. “I’m really sorry you got, hit by the car of course, but… I think it’s gonna, turn out to be a good thing.”

“Yeah?” Strider cocks an eyebrow. It’s incredibly emotive.

You smile. “Yeah.”

-

Karkat takes Strider along for errands a little while later. Since Gamzee is still sleeping, you gradually extract yourself from their grip and go for a quick run. It’s pretty different without the dogs. The hills are steeper, too. And everything is louder (including Aradia’s mixes, blasting through your earbuds).

You’re only gone for about half an hour, so you’re not surprised that Gamzee is still asleep. You take a shower, eat breakfast, and play Plants vs Zombies on your phone to pass the time. Those beach levels are the worst.

You’re sitting up on the bed while you wait, so Gamzee can curl back up around you. A grunt sometime after two tells you that they’re awake.

“Hey, sunshine,” you say, crooking a finger under their chin as you kiss them. “How are you feeling?”

“Monster is bein’ all _motherfuckin’ gone_ from these veins,” Gamzee slurs tiredly, sounding plenty cranky with things. They pout. “I’m feelin’ like I’ve been up an’ clobbered on by a motherfucker.” They notice your hand still tucked under their chin and a smile cracks open before they give your palm a kiss. “But it’s always bein’ good an’ right to see such a kindly brother as yourself on as fine a winter’s day as this.”

You don’t mention the switch in dialect. Gamzee is probably not awake enough to notice that they’re doing it, and you know pointing it out would only upset them. You understand how that feels.

“You slept for, a pretty long time,” you tell them, and kiss their forehead. They giggle. “Sixteen hours.”

Gamzee gapes. “ _No._ ”

Now you’re the one giggling. Gamzee is half sprawled across the bed, half in your lap. “You always forget, how much you sleep once the semester is over.”

“ _Sixteen hours,_ brother. That’s motherfuckin’ absurd.”

“Don’t worry, I promise I’ll wake you up before you reach twenty.” You tweak their nose and they stick their tongue out at you. “You hungry? I can, make you some breakfast.”

“I love youuuuuu~”

Gamzee’s arms wrap around your waist as they nuzzle affectionately into your tummy. You laugh and carry them out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @tavros how are u this good to my heart


	8. GAMZEE: Be attentive.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tavros is back home, Karkat is on the east coast, and you're taking your best shot at being a functional adult for the sake of your tiny new roommate. Be a lot easier if it wasn't the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for gamzee and dave's eventual bond over violently traumatic history.
> 
> _(not me)_

Karkat flies out at 1am on the twenty-first, and Tavros goes home two days after that. Now typically, this is when you crawl under covers and binge on cartoons and video games until the holidays are over. But _this_ time you’ve got a guest to look after. Imagine that! Gamzee Makara, looking after a fella. What a concept.

Not that Strider demands a whole lot of looking after. Mainly the opposite, actually -- he hasn’t asked for shit once, so you gotta be attentive. Being attentive is surprisingly hard. Especially with a guy who uses maybe six facial muscles to emote.

As soon as Karkat gets back, you’re gonna give him a whole pile of pretty thank you cards, and probably a big damn kiss on top of that. You’ve always known your best friend was amazing, but taking a crack at doing what he does all the time, well, that just proves it even more. Patron saint of best friends right there. God of getting shit taken care of.

Tavros is real good at picking gifts. You’re not. You quietly dig through the tangled mess of blankets and quilts around you before finding your phone. For once, you manage to not wake Strider. He’s got a sleeping bag now, courtesy of a shopping trip with you and Tavros. Plus some extra blankets thrown over and under him. He looks cozy.

Oh yeah. Phone. You click on the screen and squint at the date that flashes in big letters and digits. December 24. You frown and quickly swipe in your passcode.

**Gamzee:** _(9:43am)_ xoxoxo

**Gamzee:** _(9:43am)_ hope u and ur abuela ain't too overwhelmed w all ur prepping for the festivities

**Gamzee:** _(9:44am)_ remind me to get kar the best motherfuckin gift when he gets home

**Gamzee:** _(9:45am)_ strider is loads harder to look after than he made it look like

**Gamzee:** _(9:47am)_ :o\

You’ve got five unread texts from Karkat. Looks like they came in about four hours ago. You wonder what he’s up to now. Probably up to his nose in relatives, shouting hoarse Spanish from where he’d have taken over the kitchen by now. Or maybe hanging out with all the different little Vantas kids. You know there’s a lot of them.

It's sort of your own holiday tradition. Wake up, read texts from Karkat. Sometimes it's pictures or stories of what's going on at the house. Usually it's reminders for you to eat or take your meds. It's not that Karkat thinks you can't do shit on your own, he just knows your brain fades out and you'll forget to do things. Especially at this time of year.

The phone buzzes again in your hand. That's six texts from Karkat now.

**Karkat:** _(5:58am)_ Have you eaten?

**Karkat:** _(6:01am)_ Fuck. Forgot to update the grocery list. You need eggs, there’s only six left.

**Karkat:** _(6:11am)_ WONDERFUL. JUST. WONDERFUL. DAD IS GIVING ME THE MOST GLEEFUL LECTURE BECAUSE EVALINA THE SIX-YEAR-OLD SAW ME TYPE “FUCK” AND NOW I AM “A BAD INFLUENCE, REALLY KARKAT, YOU SHOULD BE MORE CONSIDERATE”

**Karkat:** _(6:12am)_ FUCK YOU DAD YOU’VE GOT A FOULER MOUTH THAN ME BY *MILES* GO CAMP OUT IN ARIZONA AND EAT CACTI FOR A MONTH SO I CAN BAKE IN PEACE FOR A DAMN CHANGE

**Karkat:** _(6:13am)_ He tried to imitate Kankri and everything. This is so much more fun without dealing with the human personification of a buzzkill. Fuck yes.

**Karkat:** _(10:15am)_ Don’t forget to eat. And get the groceries!

You grin at the texts. It’s been a few years since you last saw Karkat’s dad, but you’ve always liked him. He’d kick back with you sometimes and tell stories about crabbing. You never really understood a word of it but it was fun to watch him talk. He’s an animated fella. An imitation of Kankri had to be a hilarious sight.

You drop your phone back into the blankets, humming thoughtfully. Six eggs is plenty for breakfast, you figure. Strider eats a lot but only if the other person is too. That won't be any trouble for you. You tend to devour whatever you can get your hands on, when you actually remember to eat.

You roll to the side of your bed, tapping Strider’s shoulder to ask if he likes eggs.

You then hold your breath as the sharp edge of a katana touches against your neck. It don't cut. But you know with a little more effort it could. Strider quickly drops it and scrambles to put his shades back on his face.

He's as stoic as ever when he looks back at you, but his cheeks are red. Sorta ruins the whole point of the poker face, you think.

“Well,” you say mildly, pursing your lips. “I take it that ain't the best way to wake you up.”

“...No.”

“How long have you been sleepin’ with a sword in here?”

“...Yes?”

You snort and sit up, staying seated and lax on the edge of your bed because you've noticed that he gets uneasy with how you tower over him. Attentive. You're fucking nailing this.

“Gonna make some breakfast,” you tell him. Your jaw cracks with a yawn. “You like eggs?”

He gives you a skeptical look. He did it yesterday when you whipped up dinner, too. “You're making breakfast.”

“Yeah. So, eggs?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Never had ‘em, though.”

Your eyes bug a little but you don't say anything. You sure as hell ain't gonna tease him about it. Strider’s starting to remind you of yourself, some years back. Your sister’s gonna flip right on off the motherfucking handle when she meets him.

-

He likes the eggs. Of course he does. You mixed in cheese and spices and the last of the ground beef and bell peppers. Good shit. He didn't feel like adding honey and sriracha on top, though. He's not much a fan of hot stuff so far. You can fix that. But he does eye the honey, or at least you feel like he does, so you make him some tea with too much of it melted in. He murmurs something that sounds content as he sips at it later. You feel you've done good.

_Attentive._ You just might get the hang of this.

You take the dishes and clean them up in the sink. Dishwasher broke a while ago so now it serves as a drying rack. Strider stays seated at the island counter, tapping his fingers as he mumbles a rap. You recognize lines from that song about the silver bells and nearly drop a cup on your foot. But you don’t. It stays nice and secure in your hand.

“I gotta go get groceries, you wanna come along?” you ask, finally sinking the pan into the soapy water. After this you’re done.

“Nah.” Strider looks over at the windows. No balconies in this apartment. “Looks cold out there.”

“Mmm.” It’s raining something fierce out there. You frown. “At least it ain’t icy. That happened last winter. Classes kept getting canceled because the teachers couldn’t make it. Also Karkat nearly died that one time.”

“What?” Strider sounds stunned, and you can hear more than a little worry. That’s the best way to read him, you’re starting to think. Listen to how he sounds. “How did that happen?”

“Well…” You lift the plug and the sink starts to drain, giving you the space to rinse off the pan. “He slipped at the top of a hill and went careening all the way down. About a full block. The road was closed so he didn’t get run over at the least, and he only stopped fallin’ because he hit the stop sign at the corner. I was trying to slide down to him without fallin’ myself, there was blood everywhere and some bones broken and _this motherfucker_ looks right up at me and tells me to carry him home. No hospitals. He was adamant.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t he go to the hospital?” Strider keeps sliding his mug of tea from hand to hand across the counter, leaning forward in interest. His face still has very little expression.

“That’s what I wanted to know!” you exclaim. You set the pan to dry off in the dishwasher. “Turns out we barely had enough money to pay for rent or food that month and he knew a hospital would destroy our finances. But he was _bleedin’_. I was too stunned to say no, ‘specially with him all shouty and commandin’, and before I knew it we were back home. We hadn’t gone far, so that was easy.”

“Oh my god.” You can see Strider’s brows lifting past the edge of his sunglasses. His eyes must be wide. “Then what?”

“Well, I was yellin’, he was shoutin’, and then out of nowhere Ms. Dolorosa -- that’s our landlady, by the way -- Ms. Dolorosa just walks right in and starts fixing Karkat on up like a creepily qualified street doctor.” You open up the fridge and start typing a grocery list into your phone. That doesn’t take long. “She didn’t say a _word_ of explanation. Just stitches, reset the broken leg, bandaged up all the tears too big to stitch, had a brace for the busted wrist ready to go, reset the fingers too and told him to take a week off of work. Also said to not worry about making up for rent. And then she was gone.”

“Damn.” Strider hops off the stool and follows you as you head over to the hall and pull on your coat. “So icy winters are the worst.”

“Oh yeah.” You hop as you pull boots on, realize you’re still wearing your unicorn-patterned pajamas, and decide you don’t give a fuck. “Some of Kar’s left fingers are still crooked. He flips off that hill every time we go by it.”

Strider scoffs quietly as you head for the door. “I can see it.”

-

You hate shopping at this time of year. It’s cold, it’s wet, all these people are stressed as shit looking for gifts or whatever, and there’s stupid holiday things _everywhere._ Music. Decorations. The peppy greetings employees are required to chirp. At least no one specifically talks about the solstice. If that happened you’d run away and only come up when spring hits, groceries be damned.

You get what you need. Milk, eggs, cheese, pork sausages, onions and peppers, some pot pies for laziness’ sake. You almost ignore the satsumas. You almost ignore the eggnog. But you like citrus and Strider might like eggnog. It goes well with cocoa. Do you have cocoa? You grab some just in case. Oh, and dog treats. Never know when you’ll meet a dog.

The cashier is one of your classmates. She’s openly a she now, though she still goes by her nickname Gnome. You have no idea what her real name is now. No one ever knew. She’s just Gnome. Weird kid, but alright. She’s from California. You mutter a hello as she scans in your stuff.

“You look ready to either die or murder,” she comments, setting eggs in carefully with the veggies and cheese on top. “Holiday spirit getting to you?”

“Holiday spirit means somethin’ a little different for this motherfucker,” you sigh, digging your wallet out from your coat. “I’m just waitin’ on it to be over.”

“I hear you.” She takes the cash you hand her and in another moment hands back change and receipt. “Damn, do I hear you. Only one week more.”

“One week more,” you echo, and gather up your groceries.

-

You huff your way down the apartment hall, soaking wet and worn out. Strider is still sitting at the island counter like he never left, but the mug of tea is gone now. Ain’t in the sink, either. He must’ve washed it. You dump your bags on the counter and start peeling off your coat. You are so fucking cold.

“I miss the south,” you whine.

“I don’t,” Strider drawls back. He pokes at the soggy bags, pulling apart the plastic handles to peek inside. “What you get?”

You list everything off quickly, hanging your coat by your boots in the hallway. Your socks are wet. You’d kept your hood up most of the time but your hair is still dripping, big and heavy. You consider dreads again. Or maybe just shaving everything off. But you’re probably just gonna stick with this forever.

Almost everything goes into the fridge. Pot pies to the freezer. Cocoa up in the pantry (you weren’t out, but oh well). Satsumas you leave on the counter, and you pick up the dog treats to take back to your room. Strider turns on the stool to keep you in sight.

“The satsumas should be pretty sweet,” you tell him, nudging your door open with your foot. “Go ahead and try one.”

“‘Kay.”

You hear him rip the bag open as you leave the dog treats on top of your dresser. A thought occurs to you.

“Oh shit, wait!”

Strider freezes when he hears you, and you reach him quick. You clear your throat in embarrassment, looking down at the satsuma in his hand. He’s just taken the sticker off. “Forgot to say, make sure you peel it first.”

Strider’s face turns red, and he silently puts the satsuma back on the counter. He stares straight ahead, posture tight. This feels familiar to you, somehow. Like the places have been changed. You pick up a satsuma for yourself and dig a thumbnail through the skin. You wait.

After a moment, Strider does the same.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with not knowing shit, brother,” you say gently. You peel the satsuma real slow, hoping that Strider doesn’t feel insulted by that. “Just means you gotta ask a lot more questions. Which can get pretty humiliatin’, I won’t deny that. I only learned money and cookin’ and such in these past couple years.”

“Huh.” Strider finally gets the whole peel off, in chunks. He stares at the long, twisty piece you jokingly reshape into a sphere. “Wait, how come you didn’t know?”

“Lots of reasons.” You split your satsuma and take off a piece. Sweet, just like you said. You frown, wondering how to answer his question. You don’t exactly want to. “Mainly comes down to… well, exceptin’ my sister, the family is pretty motherfuckin’ terrible.”

You haven’t said a word about them in nearly two years. It feels strange.

“Oh,” Strider says. He stares down at the satsuma in his hands. He splits it in half. “Sorry.”

“No worries, brother,” you assure him, and hop to sit on the counter’s edge. “Important thing is I got away from ‘em. Right about this time of year, actually.”

“That why you’ve been so tense lately?”

He looks just as surprised as you that he said something. But he doesn’t back down. Eventually you nod, looking down at your hands as you pull another piece of satsuma free.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “It’s been five years, now. Imagine that.”

Strider doesn’t say anything. Not until you’re done eating your satsuma. Not until he’s finished off his. It’s only when you drop from the counter that he speaks up.

“My Bro, he, uh.”

You turn back around. Strider’s fingers are twitching nervously. You know he’s watching you.

“He’d beat me up a lot,” he says. He struggles to talk, licking his lips a bunch. His eyebrows pinch together above his nose. “Strifing. Uh. I. I ran as soon as I turned eighteen. December 3rd. Few weeks ago? Yeah, ‘s been a few weeks now.”

“Motherfucker,” you say, because you’re not sure how else to respond. You’re proud as _fuck_ of the little guy. You hold out a fist. “That took guts.”

Strider bumps the fist, chin jerking in a nod. “Thanks, Makara.”

You nod back, easing into a smile. “Call me Gamzee.”

“Thanks, Gamzee.”

He smiles. It’s slight, but it’s _there._ It’s the most comfortable he’s ever looked.

“Call me Dave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HIATUS TIME. i've got a gift fic to put together, a play to do, two hs fics to prepare for nanowrimo, probably some other things, and then we're back DECEMBER 26, with Gamzee's sister, the introduction of all the other beta trolls, and the actual context of this fic's title. 'swawesome
> 
> best way to know what's up fic-wise, or just in general, is my twitter! @juggaylo


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